


Crash

by Bunnyhops



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Post-War, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 10:07:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10554532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnyhops/pseuds/Bunnyhops
Summary: Hermione plays a pivotal role in former Death Eater integration into society





	

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Their eyes met from across the cobblestoned street. It was like they were the only two people on earth. He could feel the wind blow and the sun shine. Time had stopped. The breeze blew a few strands of chestnut hair against her lightly freckled cheek.

She didn’t smile, only watched him. Her eyes held a glint of an emotional past; one that would have given him a shiver of excitement just seven months ago, but now, they only sparked hatred; an angry fire deep inside of him. He could see her clearly now.

After a moment, she offered a sad smile then walked into the book store.

His chest physically ached upon seeing her – he loved her still… and hated her. Rabastan felt like he was watching his only chance at happiness walk away. He felt like they could have had it all.

**_***Two Years Ago_ **

Name: Rabastan Lestrange.

Status: Paroled.

Stipulations: Counseling, Community Service, Monitored Magic

Notes: Due to Mr. Lestrange’s youth and familial influence, he is the perfect candidate for rehabilitation.

Hermione snapped shut the folder and smiled.

_*****OoO** _

Rabastan was sitting in the comfortable chair, staring at the witch in front of him. She hadn’t stopped surprising him and he’d been there only twenty minutes.

First, he’d been expecting a wizard or someone quite a bit older, but instead, he’d walked in to find a lovely young witch, with hair the color of rich chestnut pulled loosely back, and twisted into a low bun. She’d stood when he entered and he had to make a conscious effort to remain unaffected by her smart outfit, which hugged every curve she had without being inappropriately suggestive, which made it even sexier.  

Then, there was the declaration of whom she was and her role where he was concerned; it had him schooling his features.

When he got over who she was and after listening to her speak for a time, he realized that this was not the compassionate champion of lost souls he’d heard about, this was a different woman. She was tainted and dark and didn’t seem the least bit interested in him or his plight; not that he would if he were in her shoes, he was, after all, a Death Eater and nothing anyone said would erase that from his past, but he thought he would have, at least, pretended to be interested, but not her. No, she was removed, cold and her tones were clipped.

She removed her pretty dark-framed glasses and looked pointedly at him. “Mr. Lestrange, have you heard anything I’ve just said?” she asked. She sounded put out.

He smiled at her and winked. “Miss Granger, forgive me. Your beauty captivated me for but a moment.”

Her expression didn’t change, and he felt a shiver of discomfort flutter down his back. That worked with every witch he’d ever come in contact with… well, except Bellatrix. She’d just laughed and ruffled his hair, then turned her sights to Rodolphus.

“Right. Let me ask you, Mr. Lestrange, does that usually work? With witches, I mean?”

His smile fell and he frowned. This wasn’t normal. He knew the effect he had on witches. Rabastan was rakish and the epitome of bad boy. Witches twittered and batted their eyelashes at him just to gain a second glance from him. _What was her problem_?

He reasoned that Muggle-borns were different. Maybe his magic was rejecting her and making him seem different than he was. She closed her eyes and sighed.

“Mr. Lestrange, cut the shite. I just don’t find you attractive and it probably has something to do with your past. Hence, your presence here in my office. So, let’s get to it, shall we?”

He nodded curtly and bade her continue. Rabastan had resigned himself to do whatever it took to gain his freedom and live the life he was born to, whether he had to kiss the Minister’s arse or charm the pants off a surly Muggle-born war heroine-counselor, who looked like she needed a good shagging every bit as much as he did. He was also mildly offended that she told him she wasn’t attracted to him… He was a handsome wizard; how could she not be attracted to him?

Pursing her lips, she set his folder down and clasped her hands. “Through me, you will fulfill the conditions of the counseling portion of your parole.

“To put your mind at ease, I will share with you my qualifications as a Certified Wizard’s Counselor. After the war, I finished my N.E.W.T.s and then went on to Athena Pallas University, where I graduated Summa Cum Laude-,” she paused to assess him then briefly explained, “it means I graduated top of my class, with honors.” Rabastan nodded, but didn’t speak. Hermione continued, satisfied, “I have a degree in Psychology, with a focus on grief and battle trauma recovery. Post-graduation, I studied under Europe’s most effective grief counselor, Aldegis Ludwig for a year. I was hired at St. Mungos and practiced there for two years before I opened my own practice and contracted with the Ministry in the Parole and Probation programs. Do you have any questions before we start?” she asked, hoping he didn’t.

“Am I your first?” he asked.

She wanted to roll her eyes at his seductive tone and double entendre. “No,” she replied flatly, making him chuckle.

“Who was?” he asked.

“That is none of your concern. Like your predecessors, anything you say to me will remain confidential. My purpose is to assist you with your transition back into society and assure the Ministry that you intend to remain a productive citizen.” Her tone was no-nonsense and cold.

Rabastan was, again, offended that her scope was so narrow. There was no enthusiasm to ‘fix’ him or to soothe his ailing mind. No, this chit was here performing a service for the Ministry and that was it.

“Alright. Where do we start?” he asked, matching his tone to hers.

Hermione cleared her throat. “Good. We start with how you feel about being here.”

“You mean with a Muggle-born witch acting as an authority figure?”

“Yes.”

He gave her a roguish smile. “Well, I’ve never been very good with authority figures, pet.”

“We’ll dispense with the blandishments, Mr. Lestrange. I also meant with having this particular proviso placed upon your potential reentry into society.”

“Potential?”

She smiled then. It was predatory. “Yes, potential.”

He wasn’t going to win with this witch, he decided. The best way to do get out of this without another trip to Azkaban was to take advantage of the opportunity to understand the world around him and perhaps come to grips with everything that had occurred during his life.

Spending an accumulative total of nineteen years locked up with only his crazy brother and soul sucking Dementors as company, made him genuinely interested in what she had to say.

“To be honest, I’m not thrilled to be here, but I am willing to give this a chance.” He wasn’t sure if he should say more with the way she was staring at him, looking for any sign of deceit, but in the end, she must have decided he was telling her the truth and nodded.

She looked down at her desk and when she raised her head; her eyes were warm and her face soft. Standing, she motioned to a cushioned chair and small sofa near the window. “Please,” she said.

Leading the way, she sat in the chair and he sat on the sofa. The sunlight through the window was warm and inviting. He couldn’t help his face turning towards the light. All those years in the dark…

She smiled at him. Most of them welcomed the sun after so long in Azkaban. It was why she placed the furniture near the window. It calmed even the most raging of wizards.

Hermione waited for him to open his eyes and when he did, she was momentarily struck by the beauty of his hazel gaze. He had chiseled features and dark hair, his eyes contrasted so violently with the darkness implied by his other features that she was struck silent.

“Miss Granger?”

“Yes, sorry.” She gave him a sheepish smile.

He frowned. “Where is your parchment and quill? Shouldn’t you be ready to take notes?”

She smiled and it warmed him. He wanted her to smile at him like that every time she looked at him. Holding up a small black gadget, she said, “I have a recorder. It captures-“

“I know what it is.”

Her curious expression urged him to explain. “The Minister allowed us one hour of library time per week.”

Her eyebrows rose and her face revealed a pleasantly surprised expression. She recovered quickly and cleared her throat again. “This initial meeting is just to get all of the red tape out of the way and get to know each other a bit. I’ve told you a little about myself after the war, can you tell me a little about yourself? Interests, opinions, likes, dislikes, etc..”

He thought it was a reasonable request, but she’d not revealed anything personal and if he was going to play this game, so was she. “Okay, Miss Granger, but I would prefer if we could play a game.”

“A game?” she asked pretending intrigue. They all did this; so predictable.

“Quid pro quo.”

She huffed with humor for a moment, processing his request. “Within reason,” she conditioned. “And I get to go first.”

He smiled in return and nodded, inclining his head respectfully for her to proceed. “What did you want to be when you were a boy?”

Rabastan flashed through memories of him and Rodolphus as children, running through the forest on the Lestrange Estates. “When I was very young, I wanted to be Rodolphus.”

Hermione’s expression didn’t change, she only watched, waited and listened. He continued, “But as we got older, things became… complicated.” He didn’t want to go into his brothers mental limitations, but he was fairly certain this witch already knew. She’d been a victim of Bellatrix and Rodolphus’ combined madness. However, when she cleared his throat, he realized she was waiting for him to elaborate. “He was …off balance. Our parents realized when he was very young that Roddy wasn’t able to draw conclusions; even the most basic.”

Hermione was entranced. She knew of Rodolphus’ madness, but didn’t realize that he was mentally challenged. She’d assumed his madness was due to the time spent in Azkaban. Some dealt with it better than others. Sirius was half crazed when he returned. Dumbledore had maintained that it was the fact that Sirius was innocent of his charges that he retained his sanity. “What do you mean?” she asked, leaning forward.

He shook his head and she wondered if he would stop talking to her.

Thankfully, he decided that he wanted to share this with her even if he didn’t understand why. “For example, if it was raining outside, you or I would pick up an umbrella before walking outside, yes? Or cast a weather bubble charm..?”

She nodded.

“Rodolphus would look out the window, note that it was raining then walk outside and be surprised by getting wet. He couldn’t reason and was incapable of processing information to a logical end.” The mood was morose and Rabastan was leaning away from the sunlight. Reading his body language, she quickly changed the subject. “So as you got used to things, did you ever fantasize about a dream vacation?”

He looked up at her and his bright hazel eyes spoke volumes about his appreciation. “I had a friend who lived in Bulgaria. He would always tell me of the beauty of the country side and simple way in which they lived. I promised him I would visit, but never did. I was afraid of who he would try to set me up with. His witches tended to be all sixes and sevens,” he ended, laughing.

His laughter was rich and deep. She liked it.

“I’ve been there,” she volunteered, surprising them both.

He nodded. “Why?”

She looked at him and was about to snap that it wasn’t any of his business, more out of a defensive posture than it was her unwillingness to share that information, but he smiled. “Quid pro quo, Miss Granger.”

Harrumphing, she said, “Viktor Krum. He and I were-“

“Lovers…” he drawled with a waggle of his eyebrows. She fought not to smile at his antics. “No. We were friends, if you must know.”

“Liar,” he accused.

Hermione laughed. “I’m not! What would make you say such a thing?” A thought slid past her rational mind and then faded away that she felt very comfortable with him, which made him dangerous.

She hadn’t laughed in a very long time, but a half hour with this former Death Eater and here she was, laughing. She mentally straightened at that thought and reminded herself that she had a job to do.

“Wizards and witches are not friends unless one or both are married and the spouses are involved.”

She laughed again. “You’re nutters. Men and women can to be friends.”

He was smiling. “If I’m nutters, then you are deluded. They can’t.”

The door sounded, alerting them to a visitor and Hermione frowned. “Excuse me, please.”

He nodded and watched her walk to answer the door. She cracked it open not revealing the person knocking, nor opening it wide enough to allow his identity to be exposed, either.

Her bum was perfectly framed in her skirt. Her legs were toned and long looking, though she was small. He eyed her desk and figured it would be the right height to bend her over and…

Shutting the door, she turned around and he could see and sense that the light-hearted mood had slipped away. It left him bereft.

Hermione sat back down and faced him. “It seems time got away from me, Mr. Lestrange. Please accept my apologies.”

He waved it away. “Of course, Miss Granger. If I may ask, what happens now?”

“We make a schedule for your return. It’s usually a seven week process with me reporting weekly to the Ministry. I recommend you come three times per week for the first two weeks, twice per week for the second three weeks, and once per week for the last two weeks.

“If we feel you would benefit from extending the timeframe, it will be by mutual decision. Are you amenable to this, Mr. Lestrange?” she asked.

“I am,” he answered.

She smiled. “Good. What days are good for you?”

_All of them._

“Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday,” he told her, knowing that she probably didn’t work on Saturdays.

She furrowed her brows. “I am generally off on Saturdays, Mr. Lestrange.”

“I have community service on Monday, Wednesday and Fridays and Sundays are lunch with my gran and an appointment with the bloke who monitors my magic.”

Hermione nodded. “I see.”

“We can make Saturday Café Day? I’ll meet you at a coffee shop and we can discuss the lighter side of Rabastan Lestrange,” he teased.

“Perhaps. I’ll see you on Saturday then, Mr. Lestrange. There’s a café called Carpe Café on Juniper Lane and Diagon Alley.”

“I know it,” he said.

“9:00 then?”

As he opened the door to leave, he met the gray eyes of Lucius Malfoy. The blond wizard was waiting to see her. Before Rabastan shut the door behind him and as he moved to exit her outer office, he heard, “Miss Granger, how are you today?” The deep timber of Lucius Malfoy’s voice greeted the lovely little witch.

He heard her feminine lilt fade as they entered the office.

***!!!***

Friday night found Rabastan staring at the club where his ‘friends’ were waiting for him. He was a 37 year old wizard, wearing tailored attire and trying to ignore the ogling witches. He’d been away a long time, and during that time witches had become very forward. He wasn’t sure he liked it.

He read the neon lights: The Lion’s Den. _Cute_ , he thought with sarcasm. Entering, he looked around and spotted the platinum blond hair of Draco Malfoy. The boy had grown into a man and had, along with his father, welcomed Rabastan back from Azakaban.

He walked to the table and Draco stood. “Rabastan, glad you could make it. I think you know everyone, but just to be sure: Marcus Flint, Theo Nott, Blaise Zabini, and Adrian Pucey is here somewhere.”

“Probably in some dark corner molesting a witch,” Blaise added, making them chuckle.

Marcus, recently released on parole too, asked, “So, who’d you get?” They all had similar conditions to be let out into society; it was no secret they had to go to counseling.

Rabastan smirked, remembering her pretty little face on that pretty little frame. “Hermione Granger.” A knowing smile occupied two of the wizards present: Marcus and Theo.

Rabastan quirked an eyebrow and was about to ask them what they knew that he didn’t, when Draco spoke. “Father has her as well. I’m certain his goal is to bend her over her desk and fuck her wordless.”

Another round of chuckles emanated from the table, to include Rabastan; he could sympathize. A waitress sashayed over to the table sat with handsome wizards and smiled. “Can I get you anything, love?” she asked, bending over so Rabastan and every other male at the table could appreciate her assets. Blaise sneered and Rabastan ordered a firewhisky, ignoring the straining melons begging to be released from their confinement.

She waved her wand and their drinks appeared in front of them. “Just wave to get my attention if you need anything.”

They didn’t say anything to that or even give her an ounce of hope that they would beckon her, only focused on their drinks. “Who else is there? Counseling, I mean,” Rabastan asked.

Draco pulled a face and spat his response. “Hannah Abbot. She’s all sunshine and goodness. It’s revolting.”

“Don’t forget Dean Thomas, who needs more counseling than anyone I know,” Blaise said. The others laughed out right, making Rabastan pull back and want to hear the story.

Marcus obliged. “Thomas whines to Blaise. Started in with how he was affected by the war and such. Blaise never gets a word in edgewise.”

Blaise just nodded. “I requested Granger after I heard Draco speak of her, but it was declined. She’d already accepted Flint and Nott for rehabilitation.”

“She wants to provide quality care,” Marcus mocked, but something in his voice gave Rabastan the impression that she did, indeed, provide quality care.

“You like her,” he said.

Marcus nodded. “I do. I also respect her… Go figure.” Marcus’ eyes shifted to Theo’s in silent understanding.

Rabastan downed the rest of his drink and signalled for another. “Why?”

The air around the table became tense and Theo didn’t meet the eyes of his compatriots. Rabastan waited patiently until Draco spoke. “She treats us like people. She isn’t afraid and doesn’t avoid us if she sees us in public. It’s …nice.”

Marcus and Theo nodded, but still avoided eye contact. “I thought you had Hannah Abbot.”

Draco nodded. “Now, I do, but I started with Hermione. They moved me to Abbot when father was released. Apparently, Granger was the only one who would take his case.”

Rabastan frowned. “Lucius has been out for a while now. Why is he still being counseled?”

Blaise responded. “Mutual agreement on how continuing therapy may assist in the long term, as opposed to only getting the nod for his reintegration into polite society.”

Everyone nodded. Rabastan didn’t know how he felt about that. It felt like Lucius was admitting a weakness, but the small voice in the corner of his mind chimed in with the suggestion that it was an act of strength to admit he may need help and that it could make him more successful in the future. Rabastan promptly quieted that voice and took a drink.

The wizards were huddled around the table talking, ignoring the rest of the club when Marcus leaned back and smiled broadly. Theo smiled too and quickly cast a Notice-Me-Not Charm over the table and the men settled there.

Draco shot Rabastan a quick smile then jutted his chin to the bar. Rabastan slowly turned around not sure what to expect. What he saw there knocked the wind out of him. Standing there was the sexiest witch he’d ever seen.

With her hair spilling down her back in chocolate waves, was his counselor, Hermione Granger. She wore a form fitting crimson skirt. It fell to just above her knees and had a slit up the right side, revealing a toned pale thigh every time she moved. Her blouse was strapless and cut to a ‘V’ at the bottom. Tying in the back, where her bra strap would normally clasp was all that was left of the covering. She wore calf high boots with a heel and she looked very comfortable in them.

Rabastan took another sip of his drink. He couldn’t seem to swallow properly.

It all made sense now; why these snakes were here in The Lion’s Den.

“Just wait,” Adrian said, making an appearance and squeezing Rabastan’s shoulder in greeting.

A song came on and Hermione smiled, quickly looking from right to left for her friends. They all came out and made their way to the dance floor.   Rabastan didn’t recognize the song, but it was sexual in nature with deep thumps of base and a melodic Jamaican accented voice.

Hermione’s hips bumped to the rhythm, back and forth, side to side. Her arms were in the air and her body was swiveling like a snake.

He could barely hear the song; his focus was so intent on the young witch. What was it? Mr. Lover Lover? He made the decision right then and there to find that song and buy it.

Half way through the song, he couldn’t restrain himself any longer; he stood and walked slowly over to the witch who he would picture in his mind for months. Her eyes were closed, so she didn’t see him approach.

He slowly maneuvered behind her on the up-swing of her hips. His large hands set themselves softly on the down slope of her small waist just as his pelvis surged the other way with hers. Immediately she reacted by leaning into him. Their hips swayed together this way and that. She pressed her bottom into his growing erection to which he responded by pushing her shoulders down, bending her over while he kept their hips swinging in tempo.

He dragged her back up by her hair, and once his chest was pressed into her back, she wrapped her arms around his neck still dancing. The song ended and she smiled and turned to thank him for the dance.

The floor was emptying of people, when she opened her eyes. “Thank- Oh, dear.”

He just gave her a smug smile and bowed to her. “Thank you for the dance, Miss Granger.” Before she could respond, he walked away.

He was expecting some sort of accolades when he returned to his table, but he was met with glares and irritation. “Jealous?” he taunted.

Marcus stood and leaned over the table with a menacing expression. “Watch yourself, Lestrange. She’s not a toy with which to be play.”

Rabastan stood. He never backed down from a challenge. “Are you threatening me, Flint?”

The burly wizard shook his head, looking Rabastan straight in the eyes. “Just stating the facts, mate. You hurt her; I hurt you.”

The others were silent, giving Rabastan the impression that they agreed with the sentiment, but before the mood could get angrier; an assertive, but feminine voice rang through the music and the chattering and the rage. “Life’s too short for male posturing,” she teased, with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

Marcus relaxed immediately and his dark eyes shifted to hers. “Will you be offering me a chair, Marcus, or ogling me all night?”

He smiled and moved aside so she could take his chair. “My apologies, Miss Granger. You may have my chair while I ogle you.” She giggled and he smiled.

As they were all standing now, they were gentlemen after all, Draco smiled. “Hermione, a drink?”

She sank down patting Marcus on the shoulder as she did. “I would love some water, Draco. Thank you.”

He smiled. “Right away, my dear.”

“Hi, Theo. You look dashing!” she said.

He smiled at her compliment. “Of course I do,” he remarked, making her giggle.

She liked the younger wizards, the ones she’d grown up with. They’d had their troubles, being on opposite sides of a war that they had each been thrown into. _It was no matter that they fought at Hogwarts; they were kids mimicking what they had been spoon fed. Their parents were the real criminals, but her side wasn’t completely innocent either; Dumbledore had been as guilty as any of them_.

Watching Draco walk up to the table, she smiled at him. _She’d help them in any way she could_. Hermione looked up to Marcus. He was fiddling with his pocket. It was a nervous tick. He didn’t like crowds, but made the effort to do it so he could connect with his friends. Hermione reached over and squeezed his hand. It relaxed into hers immediately.

These boys were worth every effort. _These_ boys hadn’t been present when… No! She wouldn’t think on it now.

Draco handed her the glass of water and she stood rather abruptly. “I’m so sorry for interrupting. I don’t know what came over me. Thank you for the water. Have a lovely evening.” Draco frowned, she looked flustered. _Didn’t she know that she was always welcome?_

As she began to leave, Rabastan acted on impulse and grabbed her wrist. “Wait,” he whispered urgently.

A dark look crossed her features, but it passed so quickly, he dismissed it. She waited for him to speak, but he didn’t know what to say. Meaningless pick-up lines and flattery didn’t work with this witch, so he dropped her wrist.

She smiled at him and stepped forward. “We have seven weeks to see through first.” With that, she walked away.

He returned to his seat, calling for a refill. “Now what?” he asked the table.

They each looked at him. “Now, we enjoy the show,” Adrian supplied.

The next two hours they watched her dance with her friends, laughing, and singing. It was a sight and Rabastan had wondered more than once if they had all had a piece of Miss Granger.

***!!!***

Rabastan arrived early and ordered for them both; he made an assumption as to her taste and hoped she wouldn’t be offended.

“Good morning,” she said and smiled. “Is this for me?” she asked.

He nodded and drank his coffee. Hermione thanked him and watched him. Rabastan’s face was stoic, but his eyes were swimming with emotion. “Ask your question, Mr. Lestrange,” she said.

He was surprised at how keenly she read him and smirked. “Have you…had each of the wizards who sat at the table last night?”

She choked on her coffee and then laughed. Slytherins continued to surprise her; they were more direct than she had ever given any Gryffindor credit for.

“No.”

“Why not?”

Hermione huffed. “Quid Pro Quo, Mr. Lestrange,” she reminded.

He smiled. “Ask your question, Miss Granger.” He repeated her phrasing.

“First girlfriend,” she said, keeping it light.

His face fell a little. “Never had a girlfriend, per se.”

She nodded. “First kiss,” she amended.

He smiled then and she noticed that despite what he’d been through, his teeth were straight and white. She randomly wondered if it was a magical thing. Sirius’ teeth had also recovered quite dramatically after he’d been home a few weeks and she rarely saw a witch or wizard with yellowed or rotting teeth.

“Delilah Rosier. She was two years older and I saw her every day in class. Never paid her any mind until one morning, I walked in and there she was flipping her hair back. It was like time stood still.” He laughed. “My trousers got tighter,” he looked at her knowingly, “and I knew I had to have her.”

Hermione was smiling. “Did you kiss her right there in class?” she asked.

Rabastan shook his head and took a sip of his drink. “No, but I did pursue her vigorously.

She finally caved a month later.” Rabastan made a face and smirked. “She shoved her tongue in my mouth and proceeded in attempting to taste my breakfast.”

Hermione scrunched her face in disgust at his rather graphic phrasing as well as the idea of the kiss.  

They shared in the humor of his description, but then he wanted to know the same of her. Hermione shrugged. “My first kiss was with Viktor Krum, and it was lovely. It was everything a girl’s first kiss should be, but my second kiss was with Ron Weasley and I had to use a drying charm to remove the slobber from my face.” This time, he scrunched his face in distaste both at Weasley and the wet kiss.

Hermione didn’t know why she was having this type of conversation, but she felt …connected somehow. It was bad news. She couldn’t allow this camaraderie to continue.

***!!!*** **_Nine weeks later_**

She couldn’t. She shouldn’t. It was wrong. It was not part of the plan.

Hermione paced back and forth in front of her fireplace, her hands wringing with indecision. Her hair was frizzed with anxiety magic and her face screwed into irritation. She cast a quick glance at the rolled parchment on the small side table near the cozy sofa. She would not do this! She hissed to herself.

…but oh, how she wanted to.

She spent seven weeks listening to him share his deepest feelings along with his sense of humor at the tragedies that had befell him. She listened, feeling anger at how he was treated with disdain by his father, wanting to shed tears when he told her about his mother, laughed with him as he conveyed the happier times of his childhood and anecdotes of clumsy Death Eaters. It seemed, to Hermione, that she shouldn’t laugh at the latter, but the Death Eaters had always come across as these graceful and regal nobles. It was healing for her, in a dark sense, to hear that they’d been …people. She knew that logically, but Rabastan was the first to share with her his view of the adults she knew. He’d viewed them through a child’s eyes.

The breeze ruffled her hair and she realized that her body had been of its own mind and had made its way out the door and down the sidewalk. She was a few steps away from the nearest Apparition point.

Hermione stopped and fisted her hands, attempting to quell the desire burning through her veins. Upon the sound of crinkling parchment, she relaxed. The parchment was in her hand and she was dressed for rain. She looked up and noticed dark clouds circling followed by a crack of thunder. Apparently, her unconscious new more about the weather than the weather man.

Closing her eyes, she chuckled. The last time her unconscious led her body, she’d ended up in the Forbidden Forest with Harry and Dolores Umbridge in tow. She sighed and acquiesced. It seemed her mind would not take no for an answer.

She’d reached the point and turned in preparation for this particular method of travel.

Opening her eyes, she let her legs carry her forward.

***!!!***

“Hermione,” he whispered. “You came.”

Her propensity to explain herself as well as random turns of events had him placing a finger gently to her lips. He smirked. “It was rhetorical.” The statement made her huff with humored embarrassment.

Rabastan stepped aside to allow her inside. Once inside, she turned to him and handed him a slightly wrinkled, but still rolled parchment. “I wanted to give this to you in person. It’s your release papers. You’re free to act as a full-fledged member of wizarding London. You are no longer my client.”

**_***Present time_ **

He missed her. Everything had been like a fairy tale, but in his, she was his savior. She’d listened and not cast judgment. She helped him to understand that it was alright to be angry at his parents, but still love them. She made him see that hate was a cycle and that he could end that cycle. She’d never tried to prove herself or order him to change his ways, it was always about him and his mind set and experiences.

He’d fallen in love with in those seven weeks and it had felt like an eternity for the two weeks he’d waited for her. But she’d come to him. Albeit, under the guise of telling him of his release in person, but he knew that she held strong feelings for him and that her sense of right and wrong wouldn’t allow her to violate that trust as his counselor.

She was so prim.

He let himself smile as he remembered the first time they’d made love. Hermione had made him wait a full three months before she’d consented. Until that point, she’d only let him hold her hand and if he was lucky, a soft kiss on the lips. Rabastan hadn’t even looked at another witch since he’d started spending time with Hermione.

**_***That night._ **

“Goodnight, Her-“

“Would you like to come in?” she asked, her voice soft, her fingertips lingering on his chest. He didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything, he just looked at her with those pretty hazel eyes.

She smirked. “Rabastan? Would you like to come in?” Her voice was stronger and filled with humor.

“Yes, please.” He didn’t know what else to say. It was that or he would throw her up against the brick wall and bury himself inside of her.

Hermione nodded and turned to dismantle the wards on the door. He waited patiently, touching her hair, her shoulders, her back. He squeezed her small waist and wrapped his arms around her, pressing his palms flat on her stomach. “So beautiful,” he whispered into her hair.

His lips kissed the top of her head as his hands moved her hair, baring her neck to him. Rabastan gently rubbed the tip of his nose over the soft skin of her neck, the slope to her shoulder. He nipped and licked and blew softly, watching her skin prickle with goose flesh.

They entered the foyer of her home, but he didn’t look around. He wasn’t curious of how she lived; right now, he wanted her. Spinning her around, he pulled her blouse apart and ignoring the small plastic buttons popping on the hard planes of her hall way.

She gasped and carded her fingers through his dark hair, roughly pulling him closer.

Her tongue was sweet, and tasted of the raspberry cordial she’d had at dinner. He was prepared to take charge, to worship her body as a man should, but she’d again surprised him and Apparated them both to her bedroom.

“I’m sorry, Rabastan,” she said pushing him to a sitting position on her bed.

“For what?” he asked attempting to rein the climax that was just under the surface.

She was walking towards him, pulling off each article of clothing slowly. She resembled a predator and he realized, with a pleasant revelation, that he was the prey. His erection strained painfully and he swallowed.

Frowning slightly, Hermione answered while unhooking her lacy red bra, “I can’t be slow. Not right now.”   Her voice was raspy, her eyes were dilated and her body was trembling with need.

Before he could stand and take her, she was on him and the tingle of magic had rid them of their clothes. Hermione captured his plump lips with hers as she impaled herself on his stiff cock.

They both moaned in rapture. He was encased in her warm velvet walls, pulsing around him. She was stretched and filled like she hadn’t ever been.

Pausing to savor the moment, they breathed each other’s air; their chests meeting with each labored pant. Every sensation added to their ecstasy. “Move, Hermione,” he bit out.

“Oh yes,” she responded and rocked her hips forward and backward. He tightened his arms and pulled her closer until she pushed him flat on his back and placed her small hands on his chest for leverage.

With no inhibition, she lifted herself into a squatting position and parted her knees. He was close to coming at that moment, but when she leaned back and rested the heels of her hands on his thighs, it was heaven.

As she started to move, he watched his cock be sucked into her and then slip out shining with her essence. She wasn’t moving fast, but she was maintaining a steady rhythm. Her thighs were shaking and her skin glowed with perspiration.

Rabastan could smell her and see her and feel her and didn’t want to wait any longer to come. In one swift move, he flipped them over and began to pound into her. Her moaning and grunting and squeezing drove him. He pulled her legs from around his waist and secured on them on his shoulders.

Moving his hand down her lovely, lovely legs, he made his way to her swollen nerves. Peeling apart her labia, his thumb circled and teased her clit until she screamed his name and stiffened.

They lay there, panting and sweating and sated.

**_***Present time_ **

His chest contracted as he remembered. Rabastan walked to the Apparition point. _How could she_? He asked himself, swallowing back the lump in his throat.

The rage that was always present made an appearance as he entered his childhood home. Cursing, he pulled his wand out and destroyed his grandmother’s settee in the foyer. Then, it was the Ming Vase his great great uncle had acquired in China.

Hermione had scarred him, like no other had. The scars left him breathless. They’d been so close – **_he’d_** been so close to having it all.

**_***The Memory_ **

They were lying in bed in each other’s arms. “I don’t wanna get up,” he whined, rolling on top of her.

She giggled and pushed at him. “I have to. I have a Healer’s appointment.”

His head lifted sharply. “Are you alright?” He looked concerned and she smiled at him. “I’m fine. Just some tummy trouble and could use a potion.”

Rabastan furrowed his brows. “Why not brew it yourself?”

Sighing and looking at him like he really didn’t get it, she added, “I also am due for a …checkup.”

“A check up?”

She sometimes had to remind herself that he had been away for a very long time. He’d not been aware of his mother’s medical appointments as a child. “Yes,” she said. “A _witch_ kind of checkup.” Her eyebrows rose trying to convey the message.

The penny dropped and she saw understanding. “Oh, right. Do you want to meet for lunch?”

Hopping out of bed and giggling when he smacked her bared bum, she agreed excitedly. “I’d love to.”

**_*** The Healer_ **

“Congratulations, Miss Granger, you’re pregnant!”

Hermione’s face went pale and her hands shook. “No,” she said. Looking up at the Healer with tears in her eyes, she asked, “Are you sure?”

The Healer looked confused and nodded. “Yes, I’m sure. Are you alright?”

Hermione grabbed her purse and ran out of the office.

Lucius Malfoy found her an hour later crying her eyes out in a small park. “Miss Granger?”

She quickly and roughly wiped at her eyes and turned to face him with what she thought was a smile. He wasn’t buying it. “Who hurt you?” His once cold gray eyes were now warm with concern and the need to comfort. It prompted her to throw herself into his strong arms and wail that she was pregnant.

He let her cry while his brain ran through every reason that a witch would not be happy that she was about to become a mum, but none of them applied to this witch. She was of appropriate age, she was educated and had a respectable career helping the undeserving, she’d had adventure in her life, she was in a solid relationship with someone who loved her and was well off financially. She was most compassionate and he could not fathom her not liking children.

“Miss Granger, please. Tell me what is amiss?”

Hermione didn’t know if it was his tone of voice or the way he’d just let her cry or the fact that she knew he wouldn’t tell a soul, but she felt like telling him and so, she did.

After twenty minutes of her chronological list of events, her rambling ended.

He couldn’t catch his breath and decided to summarize what he’d just heard. “For my clarification, Miss Granger, while you were in …my home, after being-“

This was very difficult for him; admitting that he’d let a child be hurt. He was a different person now, but that didn’t excuse his previous actions.

“After I left and had assumed you were returned to the dungeons, Bella kept you?”

Hermione nodded.

“Rodolphus and Bella then cast a spell, cursing you?”

Hermione nodded.

“You can’t marry, or have a family of your own because…?”

Hermione cleared her throat. “Because they will die.”

“Are you certain that the curse is active?” he asked. Bella had had trouble with her magic. The witch was a raving lunatic before she was sent to Azkaban, but after her return, she was starkers. Her magic tended to be inaccurate, but her passion made it strong. So strength coupled with inaccuracy was a recipe for disaster.

Lucius was afraid of her answer. This witch had gone through so much because of him that he just didn’t want to face that she had been through even more than he thought at the hands of his family.

“Yes. I – I… Ron. We were to be married. He asked me the night after the final battle. An hour after I said yes, a Death Eater no one had seen, cast an Avada. It hit him square in the chest.”

Lucius did not want to believe it and cringed when he heard her small voice again. “Then four years ago – “

Lucius closed his eyes; he knew. “Severus,” he sighed. She nodded.

Hermione, Draco and Harry Potter had saved Severus the night of the Dark Lord’s betrayal.   Lucius had known about Hermione and Severus, but he hadn’t known that Severus proposed. He felt anger at her agreement, knowing she’d been cursed and Hermione read him perfectly. “He’d known. He asked, but I hadn’t answered him. I found out that I was pregnant and it took me a month to listen to him talk me into having our family. He swore he would find the counter in time, but…” She cleared her throat. “He passed a day later and I miscarried a week after that.”

Lucius’ heart broke for her. He knew what she had to do. “I know a Healer – she’s very… discreet.”

Hermione’s head popped up and her expression was a severe mix of pure relief and abject sadness. “When?” she asked.

“Today. Right now. Let’s go,” he said, holding her hand and Disapparating on the spot.

She missed Rabastan for lunch. Her body was tired, her nerves were raw and she was a little sore.

**_***!!!***_ **

Rabastan had busied himself at Gringotts for the morning, signing papers and retrieving his family heirlooms from the vaults.

He waited for her for an hour before he became alarmed. Looking for her at her office, her favorite book store and then, finally in her flat, he went home to find her in his bed sleeping soundly. “Hermione? Baby?”

His large hand caressed her hair and she smiled. “Hi,” she said.

He smiled. “Hi.”

Planning to wait, but deciding he couldn’t, he reached in his pocket and withdrew a small black velvet box. “Hermione, I love you.”

Her eyes still closed, reveling in the magic of his fingers massaging her scalp, she didn’t see the box. “I love you too.”

“Be my wife,” he blurted.

Her eyes popped open, and bounced from the box to him and back to the box. “I- I…”

“I love you. I want to grow old with you. You’re smart and beautiful and I can’t live without you. Please, say yes.”

The silence grew tense and then unbearable. She had refused to open the box and allow herself to see the undoubtedly gorgeous ring he was offering her. She held back a sob. She wanted to marry this man with all of her heart and soul. More than she’d wanted Severus, but she couldn’t. She loved him too much to let him die. “No,” she said.

Getting out of bed, she pulled her clothes on and shook her head, “No, Rabastan.”

She winced when she took a step and he caught her arm. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t marry you!” her voice was shrill, the tears were starting.

“No, why are you in pain?” he asked. His voice shook slightly. He was confused.

Pursing her lips in a straight line, she lifted her eyes to meet his beautiful gaze. “I was pregnant and now I’m not.”

She bit her tongue enough to draw blood. She wanted to beg his forgiveness and tell him everything, but she couldn’t. It was a stipulation of the curse. Her love interests could never know.

Tears poured down her cheeks as he dropped her arm and seemed to deflate in front of her. Rabastan plopped down on the nearest chair and dropped his head in his hands. “You were pregnant… with my baby?” It was a whisper and his voice was dark with unrestrained raw emotion. “You were pregnant with my baby?” He was looking at her now. There were tears in his eyes. “Why? Why would you do… would you…” He couldn’t say it. He was shouting and his voice was ragged and stilted.

She didn’t have anything to say to him, except, “Goodbye, Rabastan.”

**_***!!!***_ **

As Rabastan rested on the floor amid the half destroyed room, he vowed. She’s going to wish she never met me.

**_***!!!*** A Month Later_ **

Lucius walked into the small bar in Knockturn Alley. He frequented it often on evenings he found himself dwelling in the past. The door shut behind him and he spotted a familiar figure in the dark corner, sitting slumped over in a booth. He raised two fingers to the barkeep and walked over to sit with the distraught man.

“Rabastan,” he greeted.

Drunk and lonely, Rabastan looked up. “Lucius,” he slurred and continued to spin the empty glass with his fingers.

An elf brought two snifters of brandy and walked away without a word. Rabastan looked at the blond and sighed. “What do you want?” The tone of his voice was tired and resigned.

“A drink,” Lucius responded, picking up the glass and taking a sip.

Hazel eyes met gray and Rabastan gulped the brandy, finishing it in two go’s. “Thanks,” he said and made to stand.

“Wait,” Lucius said.

Rabastan looked at him and sat back down.

Lucius sighed and began his tale.

Rabastan sat engrossed in the story and when Lucius finished, Rabastan blinked in shock. “She was cursed?”

Lucius nodded.

“By my brother and … that woman?”

Lucius nodded again.

“She wanted my…” he still couldn’t come to terms with the death of his child.

“Yes, but she wanted you to live more.”

“All this time, I’ve been hating her.” He spoke with such emotion that Lucius felt mildly uncomfortable.

Rabastan suddenly looked up with clear eyes. “What do I do? I have to see her!”

“There’s nothing you can do, Rabastan. You can’t marry, you can’t have a family with her. She won’t go near you,” Lucius advised.

“A counter?”

Lucius shook his head. “I’ve checked. There’s nothing. My guess is that Bella created it. There’s no telling how she spun the spell.”

Before Rabastan left, he gripped Lucius’ shoulder. “Thank you.”

**_***!!!***_ **

Walking out of her office, she fiddled in her purse for the key to lock up. Hermione turned around to get home and bumped into a solid chest and looked up into the most beautiful hazel eyes. She was expecting hate and anger, but what she saw was love and sympathy. He knew.

“Lucius,” she said.

He nodded.

They stood there looking at each for a moment. “Did you love me?” he asked her.

She laughed, but it was without humor. She felt the sting of tears. “Yes, I do love you, but-“

“I know,” he interrupted, placing a finger on her lips.

The tears slipped down her cheeks.

He took a deep breath. “I love you, but I don’t want to marry you,” he said. She thought it was strange that he was announcing this, but didn’t say anything. She smiled a moment later when he looked up into the sky. “I don’t want to marry you. I don’t want you to have any children of mine… ever.”

He was declaring it to the powers that be and she loved him all the more for it.

Rabastan looked at her again. “I want to be with you. We’ll take it one day at a time. It’s worked thus far.” He was praying that she would say yes. He wanted her in his life.

She nodded, almost unperceptively. “Okay.”

**_***!!!*** 92 years later_ **

“Marry me?” he asked, with tears in his eyes.

He looked down at her still form and kissed her lips. “I love you, Hermione.”

She couldn’t speak, but she offered a small smile and a nod of agreement. He knew she loved him too. He couldn’t go on without her.

They’d spent just over ninety years together, and he’d loved every moment. She closed her eyes and breathed her last breath. He laid down next to her. She’d agreed to marry him; death would come soon.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
